1/16/13

The Ampersand knows that exams are stressful, forcing students to draw from their innermost reserves of perseverance and Adderall. To that end, we’ve compiled sample questions from various finals in order to give you a taste of what to expect.

HIST 136:
The Cold War and espionage
1.Retrieve the microfilm container taped to the underside of your chair.
Did anyone see you get it? Good.
Your directives are contained within. Construct a flowchart to outline the network of opposing agents, and then eliminate the cell’s leader. Good luck. Olin library has umbrella-shotguns and mini-pistols on reserve. Hint: One of your classmates is not who he says he is.

THEA 352:
Nudity on Stage
A recording of the seminal nude work “Rekindling the Heat”, about a senior couple who decide to inject some romance back into their faltering relationship in the most graphic way imaginable is now available on Moodle. Watch the play in its entirety and then comment on the agency of the female characters, providing screengrabs for reference to particular scenes.

MATH 202
Alien Geometries
Construct a diagram of a house with no right angles that might house a being of such pure beauty that a single glance will render one awestruck in rapt insanity.
You may use a calculator.

BiOL 103
Marmosex: Reproduction and Sexual Behavior in Marmosets
1.Find two marmosets and get them to bang. Videotape it.
2.That was pretty hot, wasn’t it?

This spring’s slackadisical seniors have neglected to clear out
and secure their thesis carrels,
says a new report from Public
Safety, and the derelict cubbies
have attracted all sorts of crime
and vermin.

Rabid and/or drunk
raccoons have moved into carrels
in the basement of SciLi, several
of whom are “tripping balls” after
ingesting substances they pilfered
on Zonker Harris Day. “There is
definitely a sperm bank operating
out of the fourth floor of Olin,”
added Dean Scott Backer, “and at
least two meth labs. No one goes
there anymore, because no one
comes back.”

One senior, Abigail Wright
‘12, fell asleep in her carrel for
eighty-seven hours after handing
in her philosophy thesis, “Derri-
don’t: Meta-Paradox of Ritualistic Thought in Given Time and
the Impossibility of Time.” When
she awoke to the sound of gunfire several cartel members were
already bickering over her carrel-neighbor’s abandoned Teddy
Grahams.

“I didn’t understand
the language they were shouting
in, but it sounded like Laotian
maybe?” said a shaken Wright. “I
opened the door a bit and almost
got mauled by a wolf. Are those
even native to Connecticut?”

She
managed to secure safe passage
to the regular stacks from a passing Ranger who wanted to know
which carrels might contain precious metals or fresh water.
One senior had set up a twenty-four hour webcam in their carrel and mistakenly left it on after
fleeing at 3:58pm on April 15th.
The footage has provided valuable clues to the police, who have
already identified a Wiccan prostitution league and two currency
counterfeiters.

“There are some
baboons running around, maybe?
They’re hard to identify,” said
Scott Backer. “We know they
feed on human blood.” Physical
Plant plans to fumigate and/or
napalm the carrels over summer
break, when students won’t be so
uptight about the reality of war.

As American writer and bird
lover Jonathan Franzen was dismayed to learn, Wesleyan’s Camp
Cardinal is in fact a daycare for the
children of alumni, not a forum for
enthusiasts of birdwatching and
other amateurs of avian activity.

Franzen, who often publicly expresses his affinity for cardinals and
their ilk, traveled all the
way from his bodega in
Boulder Creek, California
to attend Camp Cardinal.
He arrived on campus in
high spirits, binoculars at
the ready, but he was soon
gravely disappointed.
“I came here to watch
some birds,” said Fran-
zen, visibly shaken. “But this is
just a bunch of children. Why
would I look at these illiteate ur-
chins when I could look at dope-
ass birds?”

To the Camp Counselors’ dismay, Franzen refused to
leave the premises, hanging about
in a foul humor and ruining the oc-
casion for everyone.
“Can children poop and fly at
the same time?” Franzen asked one
counselor rhetorically. “Not any
that I’ve seen.”

Sorely disappointed, Franzen
tried to cheer himself up by organizing a writing workshop for Camp
Cardinal’s juvenile attendants. True
to his curmudgeonly and sour public persona, Franzen was harshly
critical of his peers’ work.
Franzen described the poetry
of one Charles Hildenburss, age
seven, as akin to “a dyslexic Billy
Collins.”

Though this criticism was cer-
tainly harsh, many of the attendees of the Camp Cardinal writing
workshop appreciated Franzen’s
feedback.
“It’s so difficult to get honest
feedback at most workshops,” said
Darla Harrington, age six. “A lot of
the time people show up without
having even reading your
work; they just want something to put on their CV so
they can get into some shitty
MFA program. That doesn’t
happen at Camp Cardinal.”

Franzen spent the rest
of the weekend wandering
alumni brunches and lunches with a petition demanding that he replace Michael Bennet
‘87 as commencement speaker.
“I have a lot more to say about
birdwatching,” Franzen explained.

Franzen was last spotted talking
to the Wesleyan cardinal, which is a
human being dressed as a highly an-
thropomorphized cardinal. According to witnesses, he was quizzing it
on its nesting habits, plumage, and
whether or not it had a boyfriend.

As the class of 2015 prepares for
the final stretch of its first year, it behooves one to remember that some of
these fine young things are struggling
to make ends meet. That’s right—
come fall many members of the rising
sophomore class will be without one
of the necessities of life: shelter. I refer,
of course, to those who were assigned
summer housing.

As everyone knows, there are
about a billion too many people in
2015, and though Modest Proposal-
like suggestions have been circulating around North College for months,
Laura Lay ’15 engages with her hosts.
it seems the execution of such a plan
would put a moderate to heavy strain
on the alumni network, thereby hurting our venerable institution’s already
meager endowment.

So where will these “young
minds,” “scholar-athletes,” and “Hot
Rachel” live next year? That’s the
question being asked on most ACB
threads, including “Anger...everyone
sucks” and “why don’t Asians under-
stand sarcasm?” The answer: many
students will be required to live with
Middletown host families.
“It just makes sense,” explains one
ResLife member. “Like the sentence,
‘Do you surf the library?’”

A representative from the Office of
International Studies agrees. “It might
be hard for them to understand the lo-
cal accents at first, but once they get
used to it, I think the different cultural
perspectives will be really valuable.”

The last time the university had
to resort to such measures, it was met
with mixed result. Sam Gringold, ’83,
noted, “I mean it was nice of the fam-
ily, I guess, but it was pretty annoy-
ing when my host mother made me
stay in on Fridays for family movie
nights.”

Another student recalls, “That
was what made me decide not to go
abroad.”
The system wasn’t a complete fail-
ure though, to which many students
can attest.
“The food was pretty weird, but
once you get used to it, Usdan seems
weird! I love cultural immersion!”
says one enthusiastic alum.

Despite the obvious drawbacks,
many students are excited for a chance
to connect with individuals outside the
“Wesleyan Bubble” and even those
who aren’t are, as expected, choosing
the option over Light House.

As any tour guide worth their mettle will be glad to tell you, President Roth likes to maintain an active and visible presence around campus. So active, in fact, that the number of hours our president spends at Freeman Athletic Center have increased exponentially in recent years.

“What’s the problem?” questioned Roth from the stair-stepper machine as the sweat gathering on his brow streamed steadily into a stagnant pool of perspiration gathering beneath him, “I can still do my job, I swear.”

Roth’s workout regimen is concerning many of those in Wesleyan’s administration, including ResLife, whose operations directly beneath Roth’s office have been significantly disturbed by the president’s incessant routine of jumping jacks and wind sprints. Roth’s new personal assistant is also feeling the strain.

“To sustain this level of activity, Michael requires around 8,000 calories per day,” said assistant Brendan O’Donnell. “Most of my job is making pancakes.”

The Chevy dealer’s lips gleamed with sweat as his bowels fluttered with excitement. He always got diarrhea after a big sale. The whole industry was reeling, so to sell $60,000 of Corvette was something of an event. He wasn’t going to be fired today, and his bowels were sighing with relief.

“This car goes very fast,” he said. “Seriously, it’s faster than a cheetah or an older car, you can drive away from a lot of problems in a car like this.”

The customer glanced nervously over his smart black sunglasses. His square jaw jutted forward resolutely. Overall, he had the aura of a significant man.

“Is this Anthony Weiner?” thought the dealer.

The man emitted the aura of a significant man who, knowing that he is doing something unbecoming of his station in life, goes right ahead. What kind of man drives such a car? The man asked himself what Freud would say about such a blatant phallic symbol. Would the car somehow impede the inevitable deterioration of his body? Was his constant exposure to the young and vital troubling some unknown corner of his mind? Who would this car impress? He was pretty sure he didn’t even want a mistress.

“I’ll take it,” he said in the authoritative voice he often used to impress upon his students the importance of Lacan, then drove and drove, certain he would never die.

I am writing in response to the highly prestigious and publicized career of the post of Assistant to You. As per the job description, I have a four–year college degree but no desire to move on. I have a passion for fundraising. Nothing makes me happier than ruining a normal social function by using it as an opportunity to solicit people who probably already think the food is only okay. I am also comfortable with social media, which you will recognize if you have checked the Vaseline Facebook page recently. Michael, I wrote you this poem, because I feel dry prose is an insufficient vehicle to which to tie my qualifications for this position. My qualifications are a Christmas tree, Michael:

Saddle your dreams before you ride ‘em.

— Mary Webb

Assist. Help.

That is not quite the paradox it seems. A landscape exists

as a temporal constant

And on this landscape, which is psyche, which is

One finds, that is to say, I

Find

Boughs laden with the fruit, which itself bears

And which bears eat —

Self-determining, self-effacing

I put the fun in fundraising

I assist with the veracity of a famished bear

Of a hungry herald at once
being and was —

Knelt. Kneeling.

Helping, assisting.

A gerund? That continuous but infinitely present, that cry for sanctity, that

This past Sunday, the University celebrated the birthday of its leader in the traditional manner. A stage on Andrus Field was erected over the last two weeks. The scaffolding around the edges of the stage was ringed with scenes depicting pivotal moments in Roth’s life, such as his transformation into a bear, his first time shaving, and the slaying of Chattur’gha. These scenes were conceived and composed of students covered in body paint.

On the day of the celebration, criers were dispatched across campus to signify the date of the president’s birth by reciting the works of Hegel at the top of their lungs. At noon, Roth de-cloistered himself, emerging onto his office balcony to address the gathered throngs, his sacred heat radiating as a bright shimmer around his form. He gave his customary thanks for the devotion and gratitude on display, and then briefly levitated to scattered applause.

At dusk, Roth strode onto the black marble viewing platform on Foss Hill constructed especially for him. As he reclined in his couch, Andy Tanaka began peeling grapes for his consumption during the tribute. After the customary freshman sacrifice was met with the bloodthirsty cheers of the crowd, the wesband Linus took the stage to perform a thirty-minute long piece consisting of three chords and the repeated whisper of the president’s name. For an encore, Roth requested Das Racist’s hit “Combination Pizza Hutt and Taco Bell.”

Next, a troupe of dancers took the stage to re-enact the circumstances of Roth’s birth, with numerous dancers representing the Universe, Krishna, Francois Truffaut, and an allegorical piñata meant to represent Roth’s mother, from whom he bursts forth in a shower of grape and watermelon Jolly Ranchers.

Finally, Wesleyan’s theater department performed their rendition of the epic poem prophesying Roth’s ascendancy and rule, written by the mad poet Abdul Alhazred some 1300 years ago. As to be expected, half of the audience was reduced to gibbering madness upon viewing it, but most other students interviewed agreed, “It was pretty okay.”

1/13/13

If you’re thirsty for sports- themed drinking but Tour de Franzia is looking dry, try a toast to sports with these inebriating alternatives:

The Olympic Grains: Wearing togas, carry your team’s keg to all twelve checkpoints where your team will perform a site-specific feat. Drunkenly comment on the nature of revelry, wisdom, human conflict, and the divine à la the Symposim. Cars prohibited, scooters permitted.

Johnny Walkathon: Takes place on the outdoor track. A cruel and endless relay in which each team must best a handle of whiskey. At mandatory checkpoint participants must reflect on Christopher Hitchens, who was bested by alcohol. Lame DJ playing “Jock Jamz” mandatory.

US Open/Winebledon: Each team has to drink a glass of wine when they lose a tennis game. A person is disqualified when they can no longer explain tennis scoring. They can, however, continue to throw tennis balls at players from the sidelines.

In an ongoing effort to increase accessibility and transparency, WSA presidential incumbent candidate Zach Malter ’13 has announced plans to sleep in a cot in the Butthole every night this week and release his cell number, blood type, credit card number, JC Penney purchase history, and Westicles password to all students on campus.

“Wes students need to know that they can approach me any time, anywhere,” Malter urged, “no matter where I am or which frosh At-Large biddy I’m trying to get with.”

Butts inhabitants have taken to calling Malter’s cot setup “Malterville” while nearby Bayit residents have mistaken it for a Sukkah, replacing Malter’s laptop, toothbrush, and stapler with assorted fruits and skhakh.

“This is fab,” Malter reported. “I’ve never been this approachable. It gets my motor running.”

Malter claims he has recently obtained a pure nylon transparent women’s top, which his mother mailed him from their family home in Irvington, NY.

“I intend to wear this see-through nylon shirt during Tour de Franzia to let everyone on campus know that the WSA can be transparent and let loose at the same freaking time,” Malter told the Ampersand.

“Our new work is far more accessible than any of our older stuff,” assured Alizadeh, who prepared for the cutthroat campaign by shaving his facial hair and undergoing costly removal surgery on his three Diamanda Galás tattoos. “Our first WSA debate was just noise. Critics called it ‘Firkecore.’”

Fuck Williams. News broke on Saturday that Williams College, the world’s favorite NESCAC school, will be sponsoring Wesleyan’s own Tour de Franzia. Several legions of Williams’ own “athletes, fratstars, browers (bro-rowers), and dolled-up beazies” will be spending their weekend running purple-and-white ambulances, flooding Wesleyan’s campus with Franzia supply carts, and dousing garbage can fires with liberal doses of douchebaggery.

“Yeah man like anything to confirm William’s status as king of the ’CAC. We’re doing God’s work. We’re saving these Wes kids from themselves,” said Jeremy Yardsworth V (Williams ’13).

The Overachievers Club, Williams’ equivalent of the WSA, sent a letter to Dean Mike Whaley and Scott Backer asking if they would like Williams’ help during the TDF. North College leaked a copy of their response letter: “Dear Williams, Hell yeeeeeeeeeeeee, please y’all come help. Thanks broskis, Dean Mike ’n Ya Boy Scotto.”

Come the night of the Tour, you can plan on seeing signs saying, “Thanks for getting Ephed up,” “Don’t Eph yourself into Ephin oblivion quite yet,” and “This year’s Tour de Franzia brought to you by Scott Backer Williams College.” Whether or not Williams’ help is indeed effective, let’s give them a big “Fuck Williams!” welcome. Williams sucks.

This year Michael Roth is sad. Ordinarily he would be looking forward to rocking the Tour De Franzia with a group of close friends. But it looks like this year he’ll have to go it alone.

“Man, this really bites the big one,” complained the University’s president. “I was gonna be in a group with Kari, but now she’s with all her Animal Studies friends. They’re dressing as their favorite animals. Hers is our dog, I think.”

Roth also thought about teaming up with eminent medievalist Gary Shaw, but Shaw said he just wanted to do a group of one. “Gary’s been having a hard year,” said Roth. “I hope he doesn’t drink too much alcohol.”

Head of ResLife Stacy Phelps reminded Shaw that he still had to form a group even if he was in a group of one.

“Maybe I’ll go in with the IT Help Desk,” said Roth. “I’m worried they’re a bunch of lightweights. As long as we’re all sipping out of the same wine bladder, I’ll have a good time.”

CAPS and Public Safety released a joint statement this week asking that students not dress like Psafe officers for the upcoming “Tour de Franzia” event. This plea comes in light of a year-long attempt to rehabilitate four officers who, caught up in chaos of the evening, mistook one another for student-participants wearing cheap cop costumes.

The four unnamed officers, who had been advised against chasing intoxicated students, reportedly met outside of Exley Science Center and proceeded to harass one another for nearly an hour. After demanding WesID cards and trying to tear off each other’s mustaches to no avail, they stood in a circle with their video cameras out and repeatedly shouted, “You think you’re really funny, huh?” and “Where did you even get that uniform?”

Things took a turn for the weird when the officers became convinced of their accusers’ claims that they were, in fact, Wesleyan students. The four grown men sprinted off join to the debauchery, howling “Fuck the Po-lice,” and “You’re not even a real cop!” They were discovered the next morning by RAs and their fellow officers, passed out in Clark Lounge under the ping-pong table.

In the months since last May, CAPS has been working with the woefully mistaken officers to reestablish their former identities, but the process has been slow-going. The men continue to attend Hewitt pregames and DKE parties and become bewildered when the events disperse upon their arrival.

The Tour de France is a bicycle race held each year in and around the country of France. The best known and most prestigious of cycling’s three “Grand Tours,” the Tour de France is the event that brings the sport of cycling to the masses since its inception in 1903.

The race is broken up into stages, with one stage completed each day of the twenty-one day, 3,200km race. While the course varies, the finish line is always located in Paris, which is in France. The New York Times has said that the “Tour de France is arguably the most physiologically demanding of athletic events,” and that is saying something, considering the number of sporting events, which exist!

The winner is determined by the time taken to complete the course, except you want to have a small time, not a big time. Everyone loves the Tour de France, and it is an emblem of bicycles for people everywhere. But can it last?